


A Series of Unfortunate Events

by indefensibleselfindulgence



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Body Worship, Bugs & Insects, Canon-Typical Violence, Casual Violence, Choking, Eye Trauma, Fluff, Goretober 2018, Horror, Knifeplay, Knives, Manipulation, Minor Character Death, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parasites, Possessive Behavior, Restraints, Revenge, Scars, Self Loathing, Sleep Paralysis, Teeth, adoration, almost no one has a good time, casual nudity, hanahaki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-07-23 18:13:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 11,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16164209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indefensibleselfindulgence/pseuds/indefensibleselfindulgence
Summary: Day 21: Nosebleed





	1. Teeth - Nikola/Jon

**Author's Note:**

> i decided to do this even though i defo do not have the time to do this
> 
> rating will most likely go up and tags will be added
> 
> not beta'd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 1: Teeth
> 
> "Which one do you want to lose, Archivist?"

Jon's ears are still ringing by the time he comes too-  
  
He tried to run, he really did- and he almost got out of the building before Breekon, or maybe Hope, grabbed him by the arm and pulled hard enough to not only dislocate it but hard enough that Jon's entire center of gravity shifted and his head cracked on the floor.  
  
“Oh, Archivist.” Nikola chides him while they strap him back down to that awful chair. As soon as they're sure he won't bolt- and they are sure this time- the straps cut into his skin hard enough to make his extremities tingle. “I thought we were getting along so well! And look at what you've done.”  
  
Something he's learned, unfortunately, is that Nikola weighs barely enough. She liked straddling his lap, chest to chest, so she could be sure she got every inch of him. She gets into his lap again, and he can feel a smile he knows doesn't exist inches from him. His mouth isn't covered.  
  
He's horrified already.  
  
“What is mean old Elias going to say about this behavior-” She leans over to see the tape player already going. “I let them untie you, and this is how you treat me?” Her high pitched whine is on par with Michael's awful laughter sometimes. “You really should have taught him better manners Elias- can I call you Elias? Your Archivist has been horrifically naughty.”  
  
Jon's only satisfaction is knowing how much Elias hates other people touching him.  
  
Hope, or maybe Breekon, drag a small tray over to the chair and Jon swallows when he sees what's on it.  
  
“What- What happened to needing a whole body-”  
  
“Oh- And now he's interrupting too- Elias honestly!” Her plastic fingers settle on Jon's face, and he's long since learned to let her do whatever she wanted. She's cool, and it's a tiny reprieve from his throbbing head. He really isn't sure what he should do now- sit and wait for her to decide how to-  
  
“And he doesn't pay attention- honestly Elias!” Jon's eyes close after the room starts spinning and he feels blunt plastic pry open his lids. “Apologize- you're being very rude.”  
  
“I'm sorry.” Well. He tries to say the word sorry, but about halfway through the plastic is in his mouth and Jon tries to clamp his jaw down. It's pure impulse, and all it does is send Nikola on another tirade on Jon's misbehavior.  
  
“Archivist- Archivist pay attention.” He tries to- he really does. All of her words are just bleeding together.  
  
“What-”  
  
“I'm going to rip your teeth out.”  
  
It's like getting thrown into the Arctic ocean.  
  
“W-”  
  
“I have to make sure that you'll fit when I peal you- and I need teeth to match, don't I Archivist?” He can feel the plastic clacking against his teeth as she runs her fingers back and forth, getting him dangerously close to gagging. “I won't do all of them now- we can pace ourselves. And maybe- if you'll be a very good boy for me, I'll let you keep one or two.” One hand leaves his mouth and move behind her to the tray with pliers.  
  
Very dirty pliers.  
  
“W-Wait just- Please-” He knows better than to actually Ask but he's so close to caving right now.  
  
“Think he's going to cry, Hope?”  
  
“Reckon he will, Breekon. You can see it in the eyes.”  
  
“Shh-” They fall silent in an instant just as Jon's eyes start blurring from the tears. “Come on, Archivist. No worse than the rest of it hm? Chin up for me- wouldn't want to miss and catch your tongue.” The hand still in his mouth grips his jaw and yanks it forward. “Don't make me make them hold your mouth open. You know I know you don't like it when they touch you.”  
  
“Nikola-” It's a jumbled and slurred mess- “Please-”  
  
“Shh. Be a good boy, Archivist.” She holds the pliers against his lower lip.  “You know the tears just get in the way, don't you? I thought you would know by now- Elias your Archivist is such a mess.”  
  
He'd argue more- fight more- try and at least throw her off of him, but it's only going to get worse.  
  
“Which one do you want to lose, Archivist? One in the back?” He nods, and she nods enthusiastically. “It's a good place to start- isn't it nice when we agree, Archivist?”  
  
And then she shoves the pliers into his mouth, and he can taste the rust on them. She pries them open as far as Jon's jaw will allow and he feels metal squeeze down on one of his molars.  
  
And then she yanks.  
  
The scream rips out of his throat before he even thinks about it.  
  
And it's still not out.  
  
“Mm- stubborn, just like the rest of you. Elias would you like a souvenir as well?” She twists around until she's on her knees and a head over him before gripping the tool with both hands and yanking again.  
  
His throat feels shredded already.  
  
Something small and white comes clattering on to the floor in front of him, but he's so woozy he's not even sure if it came from him. Blood is gushing into his mouth, sharp, warm iron and that makes him gag harder before a thick hand is shoving some kind of cloth into his mouth.  
  
Jon can't breathe, and the room seems to be tilting faster than before.  
  
He feels something hard slap the other side of his face, but he can't keep his eyes open anymore, and the ringing in his ears just gets louder and louder.  
  
He feels like he's dying.

Maybe that would be for the best at this point.


	2. Scars - Jon/Gerry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 2: Scars
> 
> Some people like scars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> should i establish a rating system for intensity because the last one was A Lot and this one is just some casual body worship between friends

“Yikes.”  
  
Jon rolls his eyes. His new friend didn't seem particularly tactful at the best of times, and he's honestly not sure why he agreed to do this now. The page sits on the counter of his bathroom and Gerry hovers vaguely behind him.  
  
He's doing this on Gerry's suggestion- something about balancing his body out before going to almost die. Again. Almost dying seems like a daily occurrence at this point. Regardless of his mounting indifference about his own mortality, at Gerry's insistence, he took his clothes off and stood in front of the floor length mirror.  
  
Yikes isn't that far from the truth.  
  
“How are you still alive?”  
  
“What, Gertrude didn't have this many?” The vaguely corporeal form moves in front of him, weightless fingers ghosting over the worst of them.  
  
“She didn't have any- These are really bad, you know that right?”  
  
“I was there.”  
  
“Right- right. Still. I kind of thought you were a bitch when we met.” Jon rolls his eyes again. “But you're really hardcore. You should show these off more- people would be way more into you.”  
  
“I'm fine, thanks.” He moves to shove Gerry's hand away, but his own hand just goes through the slightly warmer air.  
  
“Like- these are actually sick. How'd you get them?” He prods at the scars on his shoulders and his black nails trace shapes down his stomach.  
  
“Corruption.” Jon sighs. He hasn't actually bothered to tell anyone- no one but Nikola and The Stranger had seen them. Well, Elias probably saw them, but that was something to get angry about later.  
  
“Prentiss?” Gerry looks up at him from his angle. “Huh. You killed her?”  
  
“One of my assistants did.”  
  
“The dead one?' Jon takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. “Did it hurt?”  
  
“Did hundreds of worms burrowing into me hurt? Not really.” Gerry laughs and dips down lowers, warm air brushing against his legs.  
  
“She got you really good.” Jon lifts his foot up, and Gerry prods at the three identical scars there. “Are they everywhere?”  
  
“Yeah.” Jon swallows. The memory of light being bolted out by dozens upon dozens of wriggling masses comes flying back at great speed and the phantom pain of millions of teeth tearing his skin open stings just as badly.     
  
The scars are pale now, light and barely raised. The warmth of Gerry's touch soothes the nerves only somewhat.  
  
“Through your clothes?”  
  
“I was wearing socks and shoes and as you can see.” His friend shudders and stands back up.  
  
“Yikes.”  
  
“You've said.”  
  
Gerry settles back behind him, reaching out to touch his arm. Second-degree burns, the paramedic said,  Should heal pretty quickly. It's past the elbow and not healed at all. Still just as angry- if only a bit duller in color.  
  
“Desolation? Did you stick your hand where it didn't belong?” It's meant to come off as some kind of joke, Jon thinks. In the dead of night when phantom pains and nightmares keep him up, he's sure it still radiates heat.  
  
“Something like that.” Gerry's fingers brush against Jon's.  
  
“Can you still use the hand?” Jon opens and closes his fist, and Gerry grins at him. “I feel like you're not appreciating this as much as I am.”  
  
“Oh, I'm definitely not.”  
  
“Scars are cool.” He says and moves on to his other hand. The tiny mark Michael left on him feels like it's older then rest, even if he knows it isn't. “This one?”  
  
“Distortion.”  
  
“God- You're definitely not living your life right. Do you know how many people get to bump into avatars and just walk away? A few, I'll grant you. But multiple? Like don't get me wrong, Gertrude was definitely cooler then you cause no scars from the shit she dealt with? That's impressive. But you? Three whole avatars? And you get to live to tell me about it?” Gerry whistles.  
  
Jon's face feels flushed.  
  
“Seven.”  
  
“Stranger?”  
  
“And the Vast. And The Web." He takes a moment and Gerry is waiting eagerly. The enthusiasm felt weird at first, but now he's just glad he has someone else to talk to about this.  "And The Eye, obviously. Wait- Maybe eight?”  
  
“Mm- let me guess.” Gerry gets in front of him and leans back. Takes a good look over him and Jon feels like he's under a microscope. A finger eventually lands on the tiny scar that Daisy left him on this throat. “Is that a knife wound?”  
  
“Only if it counts.”  
  
Gerry laughs.  
  
“Of course you'd get in a knife fight. You're-” He cuts himself off, and Jon smiles at him.

"What?"

“My mom would have loved you.” He pauses.  
  
“I don't think that's a compliment?”  
  
“Well.” Gerry shrugs and leans on the counter, half of his body falling through it. “I can't just keep saying how cool you  are, can I?” Jon looks at himself in the mirror. “I got tatted up when I was still collecting books, and she was happy for once. That I was, what did she call it, leaning into the lifestyle?”  
  
“And I'm leaning into the lifestyle?”  
  
“You're so deep in the lifestyle. You're drowning in the lifestyle.” Gerry's hands are on Jon's back again.

"Maybe I'm trying to get the full set."

"Most people collect stamps."

"Do they?"

“You know, some people are into scars.”  
  
“Really? Couldn't tell.” Gerry laughs again, and his voice is nice. His voice is really nice.  
  
“Shut up. You're awful at your job.”

"I'm not dead right?"

"Awful."


	3. Playing With Knives - Daisy/Basira

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 3: Playing With Knives
> 
> Daisy got to watch her spend an entire day sharpening them herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whats a little casual maiming between friends right

  
“You sure?”  
  
Daisy nods. She's only half a person, if that, at this point- self-preservation was one of the first things to go. They're in some cheap motel room, and Daisy can't help but squirm on the tarp they laid out on the bed. She feels cold, and the cheap plastic against her skin is definitely not helping. But then, it's not like she can go anywhere- being tied down to the bed like she is.  
  
“Okay.” Basira had made Daisy watch while she cleaned the knives. There were a few laid out by her feet. A scalpel, a paring knife, kitchen knife all lay between her legs, but Daisy's eyes kept going to the cleaver on the nightstand. She knew Basira wouldn't hack anything off, but god, she would be lying if she said she didn't want her to. “Work our way up?”  
  
“Sure.” Basira's delicate, beautiful hand picks up the scalpel, and she moves to the side of the bed.

“Any preference?” Daisy shakes her head and barely feels the first incision.  
  
The knives are too sharp to actually cause real damage, which Basira insisted on. Daisy got to watch her spend an entire day sharpening them herself. Daisy didn't even try and defend herself when she hovered around her for hours watching her drag the knives along the whetstone.  
  
She's been in a... state ever since. Something about Basira's hands holding sharp metal that Daisy knew would end up in here kind of- boiled the rest of her human brain away.  
  
There's barely any blood from the first cut, just a minuscule bead of red and the sting of the blade is surface level at best.  
  
She's never felt so disappointed in herself.  
  
“Okay?” Daisy shakes her head. “Did I hurt you? More then I was supposed to?”  
  
“Not enough.”  
  
“I'm not cutting your arm off-”  
  
“I want to be covered in it-” She tries to twist the arm, to try and force another drop out of the cut. “I need it Basira.” And she does. She really really does. It's the only thing that makes her feel like a normal person again.  
  
Basira sighs and for a second Daisy is worried that she's pushed too hard- of course, she did, they weren't even really together, and she asked her old partner to strap her down naked and cut her open in a sleazy hotel room.  
  
“Okay.” Basira wipes the scalpel on the tarp and walks to the duffle bag they brought with them. She tugs on a pair of latex gloves and a face mask before coming back and picking up the paring knife. “I'm stopping if you don't answer.” Daisy's heart feels like it's about to rupture. “Considering our new boss is probably going to use you dying to blackmail me, better safe than sorry.”  
  
If Elias Bouchard is really the only thing keeping Basira from carving her up, she's going to kill that man twice over.  
  
Daisy nods and Basira gets to work.  
  
They talked about gagging her but considering the person who checked them in already thought they were filming a porno there really was nothing to keep Daisy from enjoying herself. Well- other than the fact that she's going to have to look Basira in the eye tomorrow but that feels pretty far gone at this point too.  
  
The second cut still isn't as deep as she likes but digs in and last for longer. She's pretty sure Basira isn't trying to scar her, but maybe that would be for the best. So she wouldn't have to beg her to do this again.  
  
After what must be a few minutes or Daisy's misplaced euphoria slowing down time so that she could saver every second of this experience, Basira puts the knife down.  
  
Her gloves are covered in Daisy's blood- the smell- her smell- is on everything. On Basira's perfect stable hands. On everything that matters.  
  
Her right arm is covered in little cross hatches, and Daisy is hard-pressed to remember a time when she was happier. And then Basira picks up the kitchen knife.  
  
“You don't mind right?” She asks. And Daisy shakes her head. “This is just going to cover more ground faster.”  
  
This knife is just a tiny bit duller, and Daisy can feel the way it grazes her leg. A heat pools in her almost instantly. She bleeds better from her thighs. She can really see the red spread slowly on the plastic sheet under her.  
  
“I don't mind.” The voice that comes out of her is barely human. Daisy can't see Basira's face, but she can feel Basira's hand press down on her hip to keep her still. Stiller.  
  
“Don't want to knick something too important.” She tells her. Daisy wouldn't mind if she did.  
  
She's going to cherish this moment for the rest of her life, however short it may be. Even if this is her last day on earth as a human and not a monster. She really doesn't mind.  
  
Basira cuts in the same cross pattern down her leg, leaving her knee alone but otherwise, dozens upon dozens of angry red lines. Daisy throws her head back when Basira presses a little too hard somewhere over her ankle.  
  
Once Basira works her way to the other side, Daisy's panting on the bed, jittery with ever cut. Her legs and arms are obliterated- shes all but sitting in a puddle of her own blood. She feels lighter- like she's floating.  
  
“Holding up?” Daisy nods slowly, and Basira pats her face, her own blood smearing against her skin. Some of it gets into her hair. “Am I helping?”  
  
“Yeah.” Talking seems to take more effort than usual, but Daisy doesn't mind. She doesn't really mind anything at all. Her entire body is on fire, a surface level burn that she doesn't imagine ever going away.  
  
“Feel cold yet?” Basira peels one glove off and places the back of her hand to Daisy's still unmarred stomach. “You're sweating a lot.”  
  
She doesn't want to stop, but she's seen victims when they were bleeding out. She knows Basira's going to pull the plug on this at any moment. She doesn't want to die here. Much.  
  
“Yeah.” She says again and Basira sighs, tugging the face mask down.  
  
“You did great.” She picks up the knives and moves them somewhere else before untying her.  
  
“You too.” Daisy is rewarded with a smile for her efforts.


	4. Monster Form - Jon/Distortion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 4: Monster Form
> 
> The Eye judges him. Jon judges himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is pretty short whoops

He spends months dancing around it.  
  
The nightmare never stops, and he's tired of the same old fear and shame and regret.  
  
The Eye hangs above him as it always does, watching and judging and loathing. Jon's hand is on the door- cheap yellow paint chipping under his fingertips. The Eye lets him walk away. Lets or encourages. Even after months of wandering, he's still not sure.  
  
But he's tired.  
  
It won't leave him alone- not even for a minute- and he is running out of options.  
  
At least the corridors will be something different.  
  
The Eye judges him. Jon judges himself.  
  
He's going to apologize. He's going to make it all better with Helen, and then Helen will let him out, and this will be over, and he's going to be okay.  
  
So he pushes the door.  
  
The corridors are just as miserable as he thinks he remembers them being.  
  
And the world is still.  
  
He doesn't have to wander long before he feels something watching him and it's different from the disgust The Eye watches him with.  
  
“Hel-” It's upon him in an instant pressing him flat into the disgusting carpet. Its body is-  
  
It doesn't talk, but Jon feels questions, dozens of questions and Jon could never answer. Its body is sharp and long and twisting, and something sinks into him. Right through his clothes and right through him.  
  
It hurts worse than anything he's ever felt in his life.  
  
“I'm-” Sharpness again- through his shoulder- through his throat.  
  
He chokes on blood immediately.  
  
He chokes on everything. Its body is amorphous and razor and hatred hatred hatred all at him.  
  
It's his fault.  
  
All of this is his fault.  
  
He bleeds out on the carpet, staring up at Distortion while his world sets on fire.  
  
It's body stands and the points between its head heave with excretion.  
  
It leans down again- snaps at a clean angle and shoves something into Jon's mouth, tearing anything that it didn't get on the first pass, tearing his tongue and jaw to ribbons, like it's nothing, like he's nothing and Jon dies silent and horrified.  
  
The Eye hangs behind him, watching and judging and loathing.  
  
Have you learned your lesson, it seems to be asking.  
  
Jon's fingers brush against chipping yellow paint, and he shakes his head.  
  
It's the least he deserves.


	5. Lots of Eyes - Jon/Martin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 5: Lots of Eyes
> 
> Watcher, he thinks, like an idiot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another short one today whoops

ospital every three days.

He'd do it more but it's a trip, and that seems too needy, even for him. He'd chalk the rest of it up to Peter's request. Check in on the Archivist. Make sure he's alright. He's just doing his job. Plausible deniability.

It's all he really has.

He's gotten friendly with some of the staff, the staff that's responsible for Jon at least and as soon as he walks in one of the nurses he usually talks to rushes over and ushers him into the room. Martin's so surprised by the action, the fact that they don't even ask him to sign in that he misses half of the rushed conversation.

“S-Sorry he's what?”

They're in front of Jon's room, and the nurse puts a hand on Martin's shoulder to steady herself.

“No one's ever seen anything like it- we- we don't ask questions- we were told not to ask questions- and he was already weird, but this is just-”

For a second he thinks maybe Jon's woke up. No heartbeat, perhaps even no brain function, but he's woken up, and now he's talking, and his heart feels full. He just smiles at her like an idiot before she shakes her head and lets him in.

The lights that are usually on are all off. Martin turns to look at her, and she points at Jon, laying flat on the bed like always.

“It- It was bothering him.” She shakes her head and pats Martin on the shoulder and leaves, looking somewhat green.

Martin pulls a chair up to the bed like always, leaving the light off. Enough was coming in through the window that he could probably read to Jon anyway. And then he notices it.

The hospital gown Jon's in has pretty short sleeves- the third time he visited he built up the courage to pull the blanket back, and he saw all of Jon's scars. That was an... unpleasant moment for him. But he's gotten used to the sight of them.

He hasn't gotten used to the sight of the eyelid on Jon's arm though.

Martin jumps when he sees it, book falling to the floor with a thud. There's movement under it- something shifting to- to- to look at him. For a second he thinks it's a trick of the light- that there can't possibly be an eye on Jon's arm- that the nurses are just playing a trick on him-

It opens and stares at him, unblinking.

Martin, despite himself, despite wanting to be brave, to hold Jon's hand through all of the horror, to ignore it.

Instead, he runs.

He comes back in two days, just like always, ready to pretend it didn't happen and the nurse from last time is just as frantic. He swallows and lets her lead him to the room, his pulse so loud he can barely hear a word. She doesn't even bother going into the room this time.

Now that Martin is inside, he can't blame her.

Jon's covered in them, all staring at Martin the second he steps through the threshold.

Every inch of skin that hasn't already been claimed by another scar, another power, is covered in eyes.

Different eyes. Martin realizes as he inches closer to him. And none of them move now that they have a target.

No wonder the light hurt him. He takes a deep breath and moves closer, tugging the blanket down to his feet.

Jon would be grateful for the worms now. Just like he is. They really are everywhere. Bright blues and deep greens and jaundiced yellow-browns. They stare at him unblinking, and Martin can only stare back.

There's no one to ask about this- no natural explanation.

Watcher, he thinks, like an idiot.

Like this wasn't what they were rushing towards in the first place.

Ceaseless Watcher.


	6. Melted - Jude/Agnes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 6: Melted
> 
>  
> 
> Pulling apart is always hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall already know what this is going to be right

Agnes doesn't get to spend the night with her a lot.  
  
She's busy, Jude understands. She would never dream of getting in the way of Agnes' most important work. She could never be as important. And she really doesn't mind- the rebirth of a heathen world is more important than getting to eat her girlfriend out.  
  
But still, it's nice when they have a night to themselves.  
  
Agnes is in bed already, and Jude is more than content to just stare at her from the doorway, let all of her beautiful forms sink into her memory for forever. She really is gorgeous- objectively. She doesn't know what she's done to deserve someone so perfect.  
  
“Jude?” Agnes rolls on to her back to look at her and Jude nonexistent heart stops just like it does every time. “Come here.” Jude goes.  
  
She lays down, and Agnes straddles her hips, soft, beautiful hand cupping her face.  
  
“Missed me?”  
  
“Always.” She feels the warmth- more than usual- on her face and Agnes' hand starts becoming less stable. Jude obliges, letting her point of contact become more pliant, and soon she feels foreign wax drip onto her.  
  
Jude rolls her hips up, and Agnes' thighs go soft too- Jude pulls of her nightgown before it becomes more of a problem than it already is and puts her hands over her tits, rolling her thumbs over her nipples. Jude's hands go soft, and the wax partially drips down back on to her stomach.  
  
They bleed into each other and Jude is euphoric, a single writhing mass that singes the sheets they lay on.  
  
Her Agnes, inside of her in a way that no one else could ever be.  
  
It's harder to talk or think when she is not wholly herself anymore and she's not sure if Agnes could even hear her but she thinks her love at her as loud as she can.  
  
Jude can only tell that time passes when she feels the faint outside warmth of the sun on their skin.  
  
Pulling apart is always hard- emotionally, of course, but mostly physically. Getting all of their pieces back into themselves takes a while- and Jude is always worried some part of Agnes will be left in her- undeserved. But they manage it eventually- and when they're both roughly human-shaped, Agnes helps Jude put her face together.  
  
She always been better at faces anyway. Jude gets Agnes's legs back in order for her in return.  
  
“I'm going out of town for a bit of work,” Agnes tells her.  
  
“Me too. Up north.” She would be lying if she said she wasn't looking forward to setting the entire forest alight. “You'll probably see it on the news.”  
  
“I'll be sure to look out.” She gives her one more kiss and stands up, heading out of the room.  
  
Jude smiles.  
  
She does hate to see her go, but she did do a spectacular job on her legs this time.


	7. Stitched - Jon/Elias

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 7: Stitched
> 
> Maybe because of it, Jon's become more reckless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one sure is late whoops;;;;
> 
> i’d like to say i have a reason but really i just got too involved in a stream of an fmv game that went on for an obscene amount of time whoops;;;;;;;

Jon sits on Elias's desk and stares at the door while Elias goes and gets the first aid kit.  
  
The first time Michael shoved its finger through Jon's wrist, Elias rushed in almost immediately with a needle and thread and stitched him up. Jon had been shell-shocked, confused and worried, and Elias had held his hand and fixed him up and told him to be more careful, Jon.  
  
Now, countless wounds down the line, he realizes what the man is doing. If Elias can't be the one who creates the pain, he can be the one to claim Jon's healing. It's a series of aggressive one-up-man-ship with him, and maybe because of it, Jon's become more reckless.  
  
Elias wasn't there to fix Jude Perry's burns or what Mike Crew did to his lungs. And when Michael became Helen and Helen lead him through its corridors, Elias wasn't there to stitch the holes its fingers left in his shoulder.  
  
It's a way to get back at him. It's the only way to get back at him. He rips at his stitches and scabs until he's sure they're going to scar for the rest of his life. Because that is what Elias deserves.  
  
His most recent bad decision featured asking Helen to tear his arm open again. Just like Michael did before. It seemed to make it happy, gave it something to ground itself with and it's not like Jon wasn't getting anything out of it either.  
  
He splays his bleeding palm on whatever paperwork Elias was looking at before he rushed off.  
  
Thinking about it, if he did have to give himself to any other power, at least he knows Distortion would be kind to his body. And he can only imagine how livid Elias is going to be when he comes back.  
  
The door opens, and Elias looks flushed- like he ran. He actually ran for him, that's cute. Jon holds his hand up while Elias catches his breath and pulls one of the chairs up to Jon.  
  
“Didn't hurt too much,” Jon tells him. “Too sharp to actually hurt at all.” Elias doesn't say anything, and Jon hisses when he powers antiseptic over the hole. He's silent for a moment while Elias gets the suture thread through the needle in one try. “Kind of liked it.”  
  
Elias looks up at him so sharply that Jon has to struggle to hide his smile. He's so easy to prod at sometimes.  
  
“Did you?” His voice is strained.  
  
“Well- once you get over the initial something is in you where it's not supposed to be-”  
  
“Mmhm.”  
  
“It's quite nice, I suppose. Maybe because it's- You know. Michael Shelley.” There wasn't time to ask if he knew about the change in management. “He has the nicest hands.”  
  
“It's not-”  
  
“Exceptionally soft.” Elias must know that Jon is lying to him- or teasing him- or something- but instead of saying anything, Elias just shoves the needle through Jon's hand.  
  
He grits his teeth and tries his hardest to stay silent.  
  
“This is a dangerous game you're playing.”  
  
“What's wrong, Elias? I know it won't hurt me.”  
  
“You think the Liar won't hurt you?” Jon catches Elias's eyes for a moment.  
  
“You weren't there.” He says slowly, and the needle shoves through again. Not careless but nearly as kind as Elias has been in the past. “In Nikola's basement. We talked for a long time.”  
  
“You're trusting the Liar, Jon? Over me?” Another harder stab- almost misaligned. Almost.  
  
His hand is starting to actually sting.  
  
“Well if you want me to start counting the number of times Michael saved me and the number of times you saved me-”  
  
“You had to-”  
  
“Then I fail to see why you're even questioning me over it.” Elias stitches him back together silently- Jon's never seen him this angry before. It's done quickly and by the end of it, Jon's hand hurts more then it did. He pours more antiseptic over it and tells him to get back to work.  
  
Jon heads back into his office, where Jon finds a yellow door that shouldn't be there. He knocks until Helen poked its head out and he asks it to shove its entire arm through his chest.


	8. Impaled - Jon/Mike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 8: Impaled
> 
> Now, he longed for the Buried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yep

“Nothing quite like falling, I always say. Well, nothing quite like falling on sharp pointy things. Pipes, knives, rebar, that sort of thing. You look much nicer when you fall, Archivist. Less nosy. Suits you, really. ”  
  
Jon can't really even open his mouth to retort.  
  
Mike Crew had gotten up- rose from the grave Jon dug for him, that Jon was stupid enough to think would stick. Nothing dies anymore, not really. It disappears, sure. Stops being an inconvenience for a few months maybe. But nothing stays in the ground.  
  
But at the speed that Jon is about to be introduced to it, he has a sinking feeling he just might.  
  
Mike laughs, and good for him; he sounds genuinely happy. The wind is so sharp against his face he feels his skin break open like cheap glass, red streaking into his hair and into his eyes.  
  
Mike more hovers at the same speed as him then falls- where Jon is desperately flailing, struggling, gasping for the tiniest gulps of air that don't slice his mouth to ribbons, Mike is lounging, leg over leg, leaning back and resting on the resistance tearing Jon apart.  
  
He didn't think the Vast was going to be a problem outside of occasional bouts of vertigo. Now, he longed for the Buried. Mike twists and laughs around him, and when he turns his head to look down, he hisses.  
  
“Any second now, Archivist, any se-”  
  
Jon's world goes immensely sharp and dangerously still.  
  
Pipe after pipe, nail after nail, knife after knife- he doesn't know where he landed, but the blood comes so much more readily now. The Vast doesn't have to pull- Jon coughs up enough to fill the ocean.  
  
He sees Mike's dark hair blot out the light and nothing else. Everything is broken, and he is impaled upon dozens and dozens of sharp, rusted, metals.  
  
He hears Mike say something- though the words aren't clear. Everything is thrumming, pulsating pain, broken connections desperately misfiring in his brain.  
  
And then in an instant, the wind brings tears to his eyes and rips his clothes, and he is falling again- and Mike with him.  
  
“Really hurt, when your dog shot me, Archivist. Hurt like you wouldn't believe. But why not see how close we can get, okay?"


	9. Doll/Puppet - Jon/Nikola

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 9: Doll/Puppet
> 
> “I'm very helpful.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another goretober chapter another opportunity for me to be publicly weird about nikola
> 
> (also i went weird with this prompt and didn't know what to do with it so Uh)

“Will it hurt?”  
  
They're alone when Jon asks, just him and Nikola in the basement. She's rubbing lotion into his back and humming to herself. He has no idea where Breekon and Hope went, but they're alone. Even most of the awful wax figures are gone, moved to another room while he was asleep.  
  
“What did I say about questions, Archivist?”  
  
“When you skin me, will it hurt?” He doesn't push her- he just asks. She doesn't have to answer. She doesn't have to do anything. He's the captive here.  
  
“Hm. I wonder.” Her cold plastic head settles on his shoulder while she rubs the lotion into his legs. Her arms are long enough to reach his thighs from where she's sitting, and that's uncomfortable to look at in itself.    
  
His legs are smooth, just like her hands are. Shaving wasn't fun either. It was a lot of screaming and kicking and getting a black eye until Jon finally let them do what they wanted.  
  
“I know you don't feel anything-”  
  
“I feel how soft and lovely your skin is becoming.”  
  
“But when you-” He stares straight ahead and breathes. “When you peel me. Will it hurt?”  
  
Her head knocks against his and they both stare- well- he stares at her hands, and she does whatever she does without eyes at his legs. She hums, and for a moment Jon thinks she won't answer him. He's gotten unpleasantly comfortable with her touching him, he realizes. He's basically sitting in her lap naked, and he's stopped caring about it entirely.  
  
She moves her hands back and wipes the excess lotion on his shoulders before getting up and heading out the door. He's left to sit there alone. He's used to alone.  
  
“Come on- he wants to meet you!” Jon gets up slowly and turns to where Nikola left. He has no idea where his pants are.  
  
Something about the massive hulking thing is familiar- something just on the edge of his mind that Jon can't place.  
  
“Say hi to Danny, Archivist! Be polite! He doesn't like walking too much, and he came all the way over here to meet you!”  
  
Does that name sound familiar?  
  
Why does it sound familiar?  
  
The thing doesn't walk, so much as waddles, foot side to side instead of straight on. It looks like its bursting at the seems and something is leaking out of it- blood or something else, Jon can't tell in the low light.  
  
“He likes being a doll, don't you Danny? He's so helpful- you can put whatever you want in him, and he'll just keep going!”  
  
“What are you-”  
  
“Shh, Archivist.” He closes his mouth, tongue running over the new gap she put in his mouth. “Danny, tell him!”  
  
It opens its mouth and groans.  
  
“You'll be different of course, slimmer on me, but he can tell you all about what its like to be stuffed full of something better then you are, can't you Danny!”  
  
It gurgles, and it's entire body bobs an affirmative.  
  
“We'll find a use for the Archivist's organs, won't we Danny? Maybe we'll even put his insides in well- inside of you!” She laughs, and Jon takes a tiny step back to get away from whatever this thing is. “Oh, you've scared him- go away now.” Jon looks at his feet and listens to it slosh out of the room. “Did I help?”  
  
“Sure.” He tries not to gag.  
  
“I'm very helpful.”  
  
“Right. Now come here.” She falls down like a rag doll and pulls back into a seated position. “We didn't finish your legs yet. Knees are very important- and I plan on wearing plenty of dresses to show yours off.”  
  
Jon sits between her legs, and she takes the same position they were in earlier.  
  
“You're going to be so pretty on me, don't you think? It'll be easy for you- I'll still take care of this, of course.” She glides plastic hands down his sides. “Do you look good in dresses? Do you know?”  
  
“I'm not really the- the dress sort.”  
  
“I can tell- you don't really care if you look good at all, and that's silly. You could be so pretty if you tried, you know. I'll wear bows in your hair. And makeup- Oh, I'm so excited about the make up Archivist.”  
  
“Of course you are.”  
  
The lotion smells like vanilla and rose.  
  
And Jon is tired.


	10. Hanahaki - Jon/Distortion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 10: Hanahaki
> 
> Office gossip isn't really his thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i can't believe i've managed to do this for 10 days

He doesn't know where they came from, but they're covered in blood and phlegm. They're light blue and pressed almost flat, crumpled. He picks up the edge of the vine and drops it into the bin next to his desk.  
  
They're a different color than usual, and a different shape, different amount of petals.  
  
Jon sighs and stares at the growing pile of them in his bin. He doesn't know who they're coming from. From two different people now, maybe?  
  
It's flattering, in an odd kind of way, but he'd rather whoever it was just talked to him about this instead of just leaving the vines on his desk every morning. 

  
…

  
The flowers don't stop for months, new vines every day, sometimes longer sometimes shorter, sometimes both of them, intertwined. He wonders if whoever they are if they talk to each other about him.  
  
Now that he's aware of the world, he can't help but wonder what Power feeds off of them. The Lonely, probably. All of them are lonely- especially with the nonsense, Elias puts them through lately. It's not like they have anyone they can talk to- well. Basira and Daisy have each other maybe.  
  
Jon doesn't dig. Office gossip isn't really his thing.  
  
Still- whoever they are- he can't imagine pulling vines out of their throats can be comfortable. Maybe they're helping each other- maybe it's not even about him. Maybe it's about the Archivist instead.  
  
He wouldn't mind being the Archivist if it finally helped someone. 

  
…

  
Helen interrupts his work sometimes.  
  
He doesn't mind most of the time – usually, it's just small talk or gentle mutual teasing. Jon doesn't look at it most of the time- the guilt of letting Helen die still keeps him up some nights. But Distortion tries it's hardest to be understanding.  
  
It... doesn't, of course.  
  
Understand.  
  
He doesn't expect it too. They have a casual understanding, Jon doesn't ask personal questions, it doesn't probe him about his business in return.    
  
He doesn't expect it to start coughing either. Or for the edge of yellow to slip past Helen's lips. It looks distraught- as distraught as something like it can seem, until Jon gets up from his side of the desk and stands in front of it.  
  
They don't talk while Jon pulls the long sharp vine out of its throat. It's easily the longest he's ever seen, twice his wingspan and twisted over itself in places. He's never seen one with thorns before either, and they dig into his palms while he pulls.  
  
His blood stains Distortion's mouth red.  
  
Once the last of it falls out of Helen's mouth, Helen disappears. He doesn't blame it. He can't even begin to imagine how confusing that must be for it.  
  
The flowers themselves all look different in shape, twisting, sharp forms that Jon wouldn't have understood as flowers if he didn't know where they came from. The same pale yellow as its door.  
  
He keeps them, even if they make him bleed, in his desk drawer.  
  
Maybe he should keep the others too.


	11. Eye Trauma - Jon/Elias

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 11: Eye Trauma
> 
> He understands now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: none of the prompts are really doing it for me guess ill miss today
> 
> me, five minutes later: elias gets his eyes ripped out by the eye
> 
> uh this chapter is the shortest one yet and its uh

When he was in his infancy, when the world was not yet clear to him, he was tethered to the here and the now with useless human features.  
  
Now he knows, now he Sees what he will have to do to Jon one day.

To his Archivist.

He will do what The Eye did to him, all those years ago.  
  
When he was in his infancy, he could not See.  
  
And what kind of watcher would he be with his limiting eyes.  
  
When he took the position, Beholding held him down so that he would not struggle.  
  
He didn't understand then- he tried to.  
  
He understands now.

He hopes Jon will understand when it is his turn to wear Their crown.  
  
The weight of a god suffocating him still will never leave him.

And he is better for it.  
  
He stares at nothing because he can't See yet.  
  
It was like a steel pike driving into the space between his eye and his eye socket, and when he thinks about it now, he realizes there wasn't that much room.  
  
He doesn't know how his god tore his useless eyes out.  
  
He doesn't know how his god shoves his new eyes in.  
  
But they are in now.  
  
And he can See.  
  
When the time comes, he will be kind to Jon.

He will tie him down, so his god will not have too.  
  
So that Jon could remain close to human until the very last moment.  
  
Elias will remove them himself.  
  
With a long steel pike, between the space between his eye and his eye socket and where he knows there is no room to accommodate it.  
  
He will drive the pike true.

Sever the nerves and catch Jon's eyes when they fall.  
  
Mount them into the crown and let Jon be gifted his deserved Sight.  
  
He hopes Jon will understand.  
  
He knows that Jon will not. 


	12. Drips Down Your Neck - Daisy/Basira

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 12: Drips Down Your Neck
> 
> It's still casual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sort of a continuation of the last Daisy/Basira chapter

Basira does Daisy's hair up for her, and she'd be lying if she said that didn't get her halfway there already.  
  
She didn't have it in her to actually get it cut, mostly because Basira told her she liked running her hands through it once when they were both getting drunk at an office party. She loves having her hair up though, out of the way.  
  
Basira has her knife again, and she stares at Daisy. She thinks she might be blushing, despite herself, because laying down on a tarp is a lot less suggestive then having her arms bound above her head in the middle of the room. She really thought she would be over the nudity by now.  
  
It's still casual.  
  
She's pretty sure it's still casual.  
  
It would be nice if it weren't, but she'd rather it be casual. Asking your girlfriend to bleed you seems kind of-  more along the lines of something Elias would do, and she really doesn't want to be anything even vaguely like him.  
  
Basira runs a finger down the length of Daisy's spine, and she dips her head to accommodate her.  
  
The more she bleeds, the more clearly she can think, and it's been a month since last time. Basira noticed- maybe that's why she's been in a mood lately. That she let Basira notice.  
  
“Ready?” Basira calls over her shoulder.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Casual.  
  
They decided for blunt knives this time. She wanted the result- the numbness, the cold, the tingling- faster. More than anything she wanted it to hurt.  
  
And it does. When Basira drags the blunt knife hard enough to make her bleed along the base of her hairline Daisy bites down on her cheek to keep from howling. The smell is immediate and dizzying- just what she wanted. She feels the warmth glide down her neck slowly, all the way down her spine before finally dripping on to the floor. She can look down and see it without straining.  
  
First one drop, then two, then three then a small puddle pooling on the wooden floor.  
  
“More?” Basira's bare hand, bare, it's bare this time, rubs her side slowly, and Daisy can feel her nudge against her ribs. Like she's counting them out.  
  
“Yeah. Please.”  
  
“Maybe we should get leaches.” Daisy can't tell if it's a joke, but if she turns her head, she can see Basira's arms flexing to get the knife to cut thin vertical lines between her ribs.  
  
Wearing a bra is going to be a nightmare for a few days.  
  
“Leaches?”  
  
“They stop the blood from clotting.” The blood drips down her sides, and she's starting to feel lightheaded. Airy.  
  
“Thought you didn't mind doing this.”  
  
“I don't.” She traces lines down Daisy's shoulder blades and cuts along them. “I just thought you wanted quantity out.”  
  
“I do-” Basira stands in front of her and presses the knife to her collarbone. “If you hate doing this why are you?”  
  
“I don't hate doing it. If I hated doing it, I wouldn't have agreed to do it twice.” That's reassuring, at least. She can't really feel her toes anymore. “I'm just trying to optimize.”  
  
“It's already optimized.”    
  
Basira just hums, and Daisy feels the knife drag across her hips in arcs.  
  
Maybe too casual?  
  
She can't move her fingers, and she's starting to sweat so obviously it's working, but she doesn't feel like it is.  
  
Daisy watches Basira circle around her, and it's so rare that she feels like the prey in any situation.  
  
“Daisy?”  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“Do you care if people can see?”  
  
“Why?” It feels like a personal thing, and even if she heals quickly and there are barely any reminders of it left, she doesn't go advertising.  
  
“I want too-” And she's in front of her, knife to her cheekbones. “Down both sides.”  
  
She wants too?  
  
“Yeah- go ahead.”  
  
All of her wires are crossed when Basira cuts her inches from her eyes. She feels the skin rip, and it stings when it drips down her chin.  
  
“You okay?”  
  
She doesn't know how to read any of what is going on.  
  
“Fantastic.”


	13. Insects - Jane/Martin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 13: Insects 
> 
> The worms writhe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i miss the hive personally

man is thin and pretty.   
  
Her red dress is pretty too.   
  
It makes her look even thinner.   
  
Martin can see her through his window. She spends the days leaning on his door and the nights asleep by his windows. No one has intervened. Not the police, not the neighbors, not his coworkers.  
  
No one is going to.   
  
One night when the sound of worms burrowing through his walls keeps him up, he can see her staring at him through the window. She smiles and waves at him once she realizes he's looking back.   
  
Worms fall out of her hair.   
  
He waves back too, and she points at the door, to finally be let in. It's cold, she says. He doesn't know how he hears her. Can she borrow a jacket? A blanket maybe? Spring is cold, Martin.   
  
He shakes his head, and she frowns.   
  
Awful, Martin.   
  
He feels guilty for a second before she starts coughing and worms pour out of her mouth by the hundreds.   
  
Don't be a coward Martin.   
  
He shakes his head again and heads into his bedroom.   
  
She's there again, staring through the windows. She's covered in holes and worms. Her long black hair hides nothing.   
  
Martin, the worms say, almost blotting her out from his sight. We're cold, Martin.   
  
Be Kind, Martin.  
  
He turns over and tugs the blanket over his head.   
  
When he wakes up to make breakfast, her face is pressed to the window. The worms replace her pretty dress, and they twist in and out of her.   
  
We're freezing, Martin.   
  
We'll die, Martin.   
  
Don't want to be a murderer, Martin.   
  
So many lives lost, Martin.   
  
All because of you, Martin.   
  
You're just like your father, Martin.   
  
This is why your mother hates you, Martin.   
  
Are you happy, Martin?   
  
The bathroom is the only room in his tiny apartment that doesn't have windows. He can't see them anymore. He can't really hear the words either but the crawling and the writhing- he can listen to that just fine.   
It sounds like they're inside of him like they're inside of her. Burrowing deeper and deeper. Through his bones and through his veins.   
  
He wants to die.   
  
He doesn't know where his phone is or who to even call.   
  
Whenever he walks outside for even a second, he hears the words again. Thousands of voices yelling at him to be kind to something that doesn't even fathom what kindness could be.   
  
You're so lonely, Martin.   
  
We'll be friends, Martin.   
  
The Archivist will never love you, Martin.   
  
The Archivist hates you, Martin.   
  
You're worthless, Martin.   
  
We're cold, Martin.   
  
He puts on a pair of headphones, and they do not blot out the voices.   
  
He hasn't slept in days.   
  
The worms writhe.   
  
The woman is thin and pretty and cold, and Martin would sooner die then help her.


	14. Sleep Paralysis - Elias/Peter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 14: Sleep Paralysis
> 
> He hates his friend sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> drag him peter

He's never had much reason to sleep, too many important things to watch of course, but now that he's stuck in a jail cell, Elias has nothing but time to catch up on his rest.   
  
And he's forgotten all the perils that come with sleep for someone like him.   
  
His eyes open to the dirty ceiling of his jail cell and a very particular inability to move.   
  
Great.   
  
He watches Jon, and their god walk past him to whatever stage of the nightmare Jon was in like he's just another speck of dust on the road from the corner of his eye, and then he's left alone. Good to know he hasn't gone brain dead at least.   
  
“Wouldn't that have been nicer, Elias? Nicer to him?” Peter Lukas sits on his legs, and Elias can't even roll his eyes. “You know, I liked your last one more.”   
  
You haven't even met this one, he would say. If his tongue moved at all.   
  
“She knew what she was doing. She was something impressive.”   
  
This one is impressive too.  
  
“Do you know how many of the others got their filthy hands on your precious little Archivist, Elias?” Peter shifts until he's laying on top of him, arms digging into Elias's chest is the worst way. “Should we count?”   
  
He hates his friend sometimes.   
  
“Lots of bugs, Elias. So many bugs. Desolation, Distortion, Disappointment.  Just kidding.” He laughs, and Elias wants to shove him away. “And the Stranger got its nasty little fingers on every inch of him. Did you watch? Was that hot for you? It was hot for me.”   
  
Elias knows that Peter knows that Elias couldn't see. He Knows that.   
  
“Hot for the whole family. Can't wait for him to wake up and meet dad.”   
  
Elias pushes against whatever keeps him immobile as hard as he can, and it sends Peter on another bought of laughter.   
  
“You know you're like a brother to me, Elias.”   
  
Wrong. Wrong and bad and wrong.  
  
“I'd bail you out if you just asked.”   
  
No, you wouldn't. You'd never give away an opportunity to lord something over me.   
  
“You know, you've got a whole line after me. Weird way to have meetings but hey- that's just you, isn't it? Weird?”   
  
Apparently.


	15. Choke - Jon/Daisy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 16: Choke
> 
> No. Questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> daisy's fun love her lots

He knows that he's being followed. 

He's used to the feeling of being watched. It's just never happened while he was walking down the street before. He turns around and tries to catch whoever it was- but nothing. Whoever it is is blending into the background crowds. He turns the corner as sharply as he can and dips into a Starbucks. 

No one follows him inside for a few minutes until three high school girls giggling about something almost storm into him. The barista stares at him, and he leaves. Maybe it's just the lingering paranoia. That's all. 

So why does he feel like he's being hunted when he steps out on the street. 

Running down the list of people who would want him dead or kidnapped, again, he's pretty sure none of them would be in London. Unless Distortion finally grew tired of him. 

He can't see Helen anywhere. 

So he ducks into another building. A bookstore. Good. 

He can pretend to be busy for a few hours. 

It's dark out when he leaves the store empty-handed. Maybe this was worse. He's not far from his apartment, and if he runs, he'll be there in five minutes. Something tells him that if he runs, he'll just make it worse. 

For a minute, he thinks maybe it's okay. Perhaps all of this is just an elaborate nightmare. 

And then he feels it again. The weight of someone's gaze- probably the same someone's gaze- weighs his shoulders down. His hand shakes while he clutches his keys. He gets to the door and gets the key in before he feels something cold and hard pressed against his back. 

“You're a fucking mess, Sims.” He turns his head just barely and sees Daisy's hair whip in the wind. “Honestly? Just lead them right to the door, sure. Make more work for me, why don't you.” 

“D-Daisy?” The gun digs into his spine, and she takes a step forward, forcing him into the door, face flattened against the door. 

“Open the door, Sims.” He does and almost staggers into his apartment. She closes the door behind them and puts the gun away. “No questions.” 

“No questions.” He holds his hands up nervously, and she barks a laugh. 

“Bouchard sent me.” As if that's enough of an answer. “You're really easy prey. I get why he's so worried about you. It would be cute if it were anyone else.” It really wouldn't. 

“Did you-” 

“No. Questions.” 

“Are you going to make me restructure the English language for you?” He gets another short, clipped laugh. 

“What did I just say?” She gets closer to him, and he backs away. They keep going until the corner of the kitchen counter digs into his hip, and he's out of room to run away. “What did I say, Sims?” 

“No questions.” He whispers. She's dangerously close. She's dangerous, period. 

“And what did you do?” 

“A-asked a question.” 

Her nails dig into his the back of his neck when she reaches out to choke him, thumbs planted in the worst possible place. He starts losing air immediately. 

“Bouchard made me follow you to see how you'd react- and won't he be disappointed now.” She presses down harder, and Jon starts seeing spots. 

“W-W-” He can't get the word out, and she just grins and squeezes. 

His face feels warm, and his fingers start tingling. He finally brings his hands up to hers, to try and pull her off or move the pressure anywhere else but she's obviously stronger than him. Her nails are sharper too, and he smells iron before his vision goes even darker. 

“L-Let-” It's raspy- barely vocalized- just more air being pushed out than anything and she clicks her tongue and shakes her head. 

“You're going to get yourself killed.” 

He gasps for air, desperately gripping her wrists for any purchase, but Daisy's steadfast. Solid.

A weapon. 

Time seems to slow down as his body gives in- he can't see, all his limbs are tingling, and his lungs burn. He's sure she might actually kill him here. He's sure she's pressing down as hard as she can, but she adjusts, and her fingers feel like their brushing against bone. She's going to crush his windpipe- she's going to

He wakes up on the kitchen floor. 

Daisy's sitting on his couch and watching TV. 

“Have a good nap?”


	16. Infested - Martin/Peter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 17: Infested
> 
> He should ignore it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> love jane, love peter, love ending chapters with the same line Apparently

Martin's sick.   
  
Basira didn't notice, and Melanie doesn't care, but Martin shakes with a fever at his desk. He doesn't know how or why or when he got sick, but he can barely keep his eyes open now. His legs shake under him by the time he manages to get to Eli- to Peter Lukas's office.   
  
He's at Elias's desk, feet up, reading something. When Martin knocks he looks genuinely surprised and its more refreshing, then he thought it would be.   
  
“You look a mess, Martin.”   
  
“Uh- Yeah.” He stares straight ahead because anywhere else makes his head spin.   
  
“In no condition to work, I'm assuming? That's alright- head home. I'll get Basira to do it.” He's taken aback at how easy everything is now. For half a second, the book in Peter's hands is a Leitner, but that's just stress. Or fever delirium. “Or should I call some paramedics Martin?'   
  
“I-” He must look green at this point. “Uh-”   
  
“Why don't you just relax for a while. We'll figure something out when you're capable of talking. Elias has a bed in here, and I'm sure he wouldn't mind lending it to his wonderful employee, right?” Martin catches maybe every third word and just decides to nod.   
  
“Okay.”   
  
“Okay!” His head is pounding. Peter claps his hands and pulls a bed from out of the wall that Martin has never seen before- it's really not doing a lot of him right now. Peter pats it and Martin inches along the wall until he's sitting down and Peter is pushing his shoulders flat.   
  
“There you go. Chin up, Martin. You'll be right as rain in just a few hours.”   
  
“What?”   
  
“Sleep.”   
  
When he wakes up, he's alone. It sounds like the building is empty and all the lights are out. Great. Martin sits up and rubs his eyes. Whatever the fever, it seems like it's gone now. And sure, he's been left here alone, but he's used to waking up in the Archives by himself.   
  
He heads to the elevators and hears something crackling.   
  
He should ignore it.   
  
Unless its fire and it gets to the statements.   
  
He should still ignore it.   
  
The sound gets louder the closer he gets to the archives, and he sees a faint glow coming from under the door. Lightless flame, maybe? Wait-  
  
He opens the door by accident- more automatic than anything else and almost falls back on his ass.   
  
Hello Martin.  
  
He's used to that voice- those voices- even if a year's past he's never going to get over them. He's going to die and hear them. But Prentiss is dead- everyone said she was dead- Elias said she was dead.   
  
We've missed you, Martin.   
  
To say nothing of the fact that she's on fire- embers falling off of her in waves and singeing the corners of his desk.   
  
Aren't you happy to see us, Martin?   
  
We missed you, Martin.   
  
Jane finally turns her own head to stare at him, and it's nothing but unbridled rage.   
  
“What are you-”   
  
We thought we'd visit our friend Martin.   
  
“You're- You're dead-”   
  
Are we, Martin?   
  
“Did- Did you make me sick-”   
  
We may be dead, but parasites are forever, Martin.   
  
And they grow so beautifully in you.  
  
Making a brand new home.   
  
Are they warm like we are?  
  
You'll like being a home.  
  
You'll never be lonely again.   
  
He jolts awake- shooting up straight, and he becomes slowly aware of Peter Lucas's laughter next to him.   
  
“Have a good rest, sunshine?”


	17. Gas Mask - Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 18: Gas Mask
> 
> It barely stings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhhhhhhhhh ya

Just standing next to her makes Jon sweat through his clothes.   
  
Or it could just be the heat of the fire that razes the Institute to the ground.

The Watcher's Crown was an even bigger mess then the Unknowing.  
  
He doesn't know where Basira or Martin are, but Melanie splashes gasoline through the window and dances through the hallowed out frames.   
  
“She's cute.” Jude laughs, and her voice is low- crackling like the building does when a section of the roof caves in. “Really.”   
  
“I think she's doesn't go in for yours.” He coughs. The smoke makes him delirious.   
  
“Slaughter and Desolation are friends, Archivist. We could be even better friends. Such great close friends.”   
  
“What about Agnes?” He tries to wipe the sweat from his face, but all it does is drag ash on his face.   
  
Jude doesn't say anything to that.   
  
He doesn't know why no one's called the fire department yet. A phone line goes down. It lands on a few cars. The alarms don't go off.   
  
A Lightless Flame member walks up and tells Jude that they found Elias and she grins.   
  
A gas mask falls in his lap.   
  
“Go get your boss, Archivist.”  
  
“I'm going to die in there.” He says, but he unbuckles the clasp on the mask and tugs it on his head. It's kind of hard to breathe in it.   
  
“The heat's good for the skin. Look at your friend- she's basically glowing.”   
  
And Melanie is, somehow, sparks come off of her skin and she looks glorious in her reverie. Jude watches her and Jon worries- well. Maybe it's past the point of concern. He holds his scared hand up, and Jude hauls him up to his feet.   
  
It barely stings.   
  
“Look at you, Archivist. We'll make something of you yet.” Jon wants to shake his head, but this all feels pretty far from normal.   
  
“Don't hurt her.”   
  
“I have a feeling she wouldn't mind it.”   
  
The heat inside the building is debilitating, and Jon can barely move until his body adjusts and it feels like his skin is boiling.   
  
Jon finds them in the Archives, three cultists and Elias and he has to wonder why Jude made him walk down here. Probably still getting back at him for their first meeting.   
  
“Elias.” It comes out muffled through the mask. “We're done. Get up.”   
  
The cultists laugh to each other, and when Jon gets closer, he understands the man is lying dead.  
  
He finds it funnier then he thought he would.   
  
Well, at least Melanie will be thrilled.


	18. Dismantle Instructions - Jon/Nikola

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 19: Dismantle Instructions
> 
> It tickles in a weird way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhhh mannequin hot

“First, we'll cut here.” 

The marker cap clinks on the floor, and the felt tip feels weird against his skin. Kind of scratchy and wet. Jon isn't a fan. He's especially not a fan of how it drags down his skin when she draws the Y-section on his chest slowly. 

Nikola's other plastic hand keeps him flat on the floor while she draws on him. 

“Just like a corpse, and then we'll scoop out all your insides- don't worry! I'll find a good use for them, promise! I'll find a good use for all of you.” 

The marker drags down to his navel, and she sits up a little bit and angles her head between Jon's legs. He doesn't give her the satisfaction of reacting. Sarah holds arms apart, and Nikola draws another scratchy line on the underside of his arm, fanning it out along his thumb and pinky. 

"Then we're going to peel you, really close to the skin, right between the muscle."

It tickles in a weird way. 

“Other side, then the legs, then your back.” 

“Mm.” Sarah slaps him for the noise. 

“Sarah, be nice! Don't bruise him- do you know how long it to me to get the rosy color just the right shade?” 

Sarah sneers and Jon's used to that too. His face stings from the hit and he lets Nikola do whatever she wants until she nudges his side and Sarah rolls him over. 

“See- He's a good listener.” Nikola pats his head and Jon sighs while the marker scratches his skin. “I bet- if we got to him before mean old Elias did, he would have been happy to work for us. Our own Archivist, wouldn't that be exciting? I bet you two would get along great.” 

“Mm.” He says through the gag, and Sarah lifts her hand before Nikola lifts her head from his leg, and Sarah stops. 

“See! Friends already.”


	19. Photo - Peter/Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 20: Photo
> 
> He picked a Polaroid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall know when someone is super nonchalant in their violence? 
> 
> anyway im really sick and this is real short whoops

Peter gets into the hospital easy enough. 

He should probably tell them to up security because who knows what kind of lunatic with a knife and a camera could waltz in and rip their patients open. And he definitely wouldn't know anything about that. Not at all. 

He picked a Polaroid, most because he wanted the picture to be small enough to taunt Elias with when he went to go visit him tomorrow. He can feel Elias tracking him now, trying to burn a hole into his head. 

Jon's still resting, just like always, while Lucas locks the door behind him. 

“Shame we never got to meet in person, but hey. I've heard good things.” He shoves up Jon's hospital gown to his shoulders and settles between his legs. “Hey, wouldn't it be hilarious if this is what got you up? Bet that would hurt, huh?” 

“Definitely not the foot I want to get off to with you.” He pushes the knife through the Archivist's delicate skin between his rib cage, and with almost no care in the world drags it down to his navel. “You don't mind another scar, right? You're already littered in them anyway.” 

The stab wound doesn't wake him up, and the blood is so slow to pool that maybe he really is dead. But then bodies, especially their bodies, do the darnedest things sometimes. 

He wants organs and face in the shot, so the angle really is imperative. He's getting too old to be sprawled out in a bed with a bleeding twenty-something, but needs must and all of that. What kind of friend would he be if he couldn't get Elias some quality wank material? 

It's lonely in the clink. 

The Polaroid goes off just as the dark blood drips onto the sheets and, really, he is out doing himself here. He waves it out and oh, yes. Perfect. 

Pale skin that bleeds into the dark organs, and the Archivist's completely calm expression? Put this in a museum. What is he doing sailing, really? Clearly, he's missed his calling entirely. 

But maybe a few more, just for the sake of variety.


	20. Nosebleed - Jon/Melanie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 21: Nosebleed
> 
> Melanie punches him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still very sick rip @ me

Jon hasn't been punched since he was eight and Mr. Spider ate someone. 

But now, twenty-one years later, Melanie King punches him square in the face and he really doesn't know how he's meant to react. His ears are ringing, and his face hurts, pain blooming from his nose and into his skull. 

It hurts a lot, actually? 

He touches his lip, and it's covered in blood, and when he feels his nose, it hurts even more. 

“Did- Did you break my nose?” 

Melanie punches him again, to the side this time, and it feels like his cheek splits open when she does. 

When Jon can right his head and look at her, he sees something in her eyes. Something- Something like Daisy's feral gaze when she almost shot him. But this is so much more- general. He's just what fell under her hand. And he gets it. He does. They're all at a breaking point- the last few weeks have been nothing short of stressful. 

He'd still rather not be the one getting pummeled by her. 

She swings again, and he tries to lift a hand up to protect his face, but she feints in the other direction and cracks his other cheekbone. 

How much longer until Elias remembers they know he can see this happening. 

He has no idea where the rest of them are, but he's not a good enough fighter for this. 

He tries to shover her, but she's faster and gets him on the ground easily enough. 

He doesn't know how long until Daisy and Basira pull her off of him. He's bleeding all over himself, and he's pretty sure his nose is broken. 

Martin almost faints when he sees him again. 

He isn't mad at her. He doesn't even really want an apology from her. 

He just keeps wishing that none of them were in this situation. 

So... business as usual, really.

**Author's Note:**

> comments are always encouraged and very very very appreciated
> 
> come [talk to me](http://iamalivenow.tumblr.com/)


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